


you’re everything i shouldn’t be thinking about

by kattyshack



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Heavy Petting, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sneaking Around, Teasing, the kind of Thirst not even a 72oz slushie can quench, ’cause i gotta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: In which Beth’s at the top of Daryl’s honey-do list.(title from the thompson square song of the same name)





	1. a beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melissa_Alexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melissa_Alexander/gifts).

> a/n: so anyway i wrote this bc melissa’s Thirst is so contagious that it’s now a serious medical issue — an epidemic, if you will. and also bc my bethyl wip is probably the slowest burn i’ve ever written (i live for the make-out, OKAY) and it’ll be a few chapters still before they get ~busy~ in that one, so like consider this my palate cleanser of sorts and take it for the simple slutty good time that it is, pls an’ thnx.

**i. i got a million things that need to be done but, baby, i can only focus on one**

Every weekend finds Daryl at the Greene family farm, doing whatever needs doing because long story short, he likes to work with his hands and the property can use whatever free labor it can get (and who doesn’t, anyway?), and Hershel Greene had taken a chance on Daryl a long time ago, when he was at his worst and didn’t have many other people around who were willing to put up with his shit.

It’s a debt he can’t rightly repay and he won’t say a word about it, he’ll just go on and do what needs done — fix the leaky patches in the roof, haul hay bales because apparently there’s a right place, right time for where hay bales are meant to go, get under the hood of the cars or the tractors when need be, whatever — because he owes Hershel.

Not by wanting to fuck the man’s daughter six ways to Sunday — _the Lord’s day_, which somehow makes the whole thing feel that much more incredibly indecently irredeemably wrong, and yet…

Well, you muck out the stables enough times and Daryl figures he gets a pass. Not that he’d ever say so to anybody, but it puts his own mind at ease a little, at least.

Beth Greene is something else, though. He likes the way she looks him straight in the eye and doesn’t take any shit, not from him or her sister or any of the younger farmhands. Likes her laugh, likes her legs, likes that smartass mouth of hers. Can think of a couple dozen things he’d like to do with that smartass mouth, too.

It’s a weird thing, when he realizes it. Daryl’s not used to those sorts of… _inclinations_. But he’s a straightforward kinda guy, no-nonsense, so when the thought crosses his mind that he wants to bend that girl over the hood of that really shitty Mustang she bought secondhand just ‘cause she could and _‘I liked the color,’_ for Christ’s sake, he accepts it for what it is. Doesn’t mean he’d planned on doing anything about it, he was just gonna live with it, but then…

Well.

_Well._

“Y’r car’s shit,” Daryl huffs as he rolls out from where he’d been checking out its underbelly. They’re in one of the work sheds, where the cars get stored when the weather’s bad. Right now it’s hot as hell and the only difference between inside and out is the shade, though it’s plenty bright with the open doors. “How many times I gotta tell y’ that ‘fore you sell the damn thing for parts, girl?”

“Don’t talk about Ophelia like that,” Beth shushes him from where she’s leaning against the hood next to him. He’s still laying on the creeper, so he’s got an eyeful of her bare legs; if only she were wearing a skirt, he could see right up it, but he likes thinking about stripping her out of those little denim shorts, too. “She’ll hear you.”

_“Ophelia?” _Daryl scoffs. “No wonder the damn engine’s fixin’ to fall out.”

“You know ‘bout _Hamlet_?”

“Merle likes to go out t’ that playhouse, time t’ time. Good beer.” Daryl wipes his hands on the bandana he keeps in his back pocket, but it doesn’t do much for the stains on his fingers. He thinks about the prints he could leave behind on Beth’s thighs. “Dunno why y’d name y’r car after any of ‘em. All got some stupid-ass name.”

He sits up with another huff, so that he’s about eye-level with the vee of Beth’s legs. His eyes flick to her zipper and he wonders if she’d hit him if he tried to shove his face between them, or if she’d let him go on and eat her pussy like he’s been wanting to.

Never wanted to do that before, but this is Beth and he wants to know what her cunt looks like, what it tastes like, which parts of it he could lick to make her pull his hair and groan his name in that pretty church choir voice of hers.

_“Daaaaryl,” _she whines, all pink pouty-lipped. She nudges him with the worn toe of her boot. “C’mon, I know you can fix it.”

He grabs at her prodding foot, wraps his oil-stained hand around her ankle. He’s never been much for touching, but he’s always looking for an excuse to make Beth shiver the way she does whenever he brushes his hands over her — just little things he could call accidents if he had to call them anything. But they make her cheeks go pink and her eyes dark and sometimes she inhales this giggly little breath that makes him want to pin her hands above her head and suck on her neck, so he can feel the vibrations of that giggle up and down her throat.

Christ, but he wants to fuck this girl. She’s so good, so pretty, so in his face all the damn time, making him want to get _so in_ her frayed denim shorts that he can’t find his way back out of them again.

“Not worth fixin’,” Daryl tells her, same as he’s  
told her a dozen times before. He’s still holding her ankle, finds himself wishing she was wearing her sneakers or moccasins today so that he could feel her skin, not the soft fake leather of her boot. “An’ you kick me one more time, I’m gonna lay y’r skinny ass out. Then _you_ can crawl un’erneath this thing and try t’ fix it y’rself.”

Beth twists around to get a look behind her. Her shirt rides up some with the movement and makes Daryl’s throat go dry. “It ain’t that skinny.”

“Y’r scrawny, Greene,” he says, like it’s funny when it’s not even true. She’s all angles, Beth is, but he likes her ass just fine. Thinks about putting his hands on it, wonders if she’d want him to give it a couple sharp smacks and if it’d go as pink as her face tends to do.

So, nah, she’s not scrawny — or if she is, Daryl supposes _scrawny_’s just his type — but he likes to wind her up.

He releases her ankle to push himself up off the floor of the shed. His boots crunch and the creeper’s wheels squeak and Beth’s pouting at him again, all “If you’re gonna tease me, least you can do is fix Ophelia up for me. That’s a fair trade, ain’t it?”

“Nope.” Daryl digs around his pockets for a cigarette, knows he’s got a pack stashed somewhere but the thing gets squashed so much he can never tell where he put it. He glances back to Beth and one corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll give y’ shit f’r free. Car’s gonna cost y’ lot more’n that.”

He fishes a cigarette from his shirt pocket, sticks it between his teeth just as Beth pinches his arm. “Ow, hell y’ do that f’r?”

“Best not be thinkin’ about lightin’ that thing in here, Daryl Dixon,” she scolds him.

“Why not?” Daryl chews on the filter, softening it. “What’f I fix y’r car for ya, huh?”

Her eyes go all bright and hopeful, like she really thinks he’s not fooling with her. “You gonna?”

“Hell nah, girl.” He snorts, smacks the hood of the thing, right next to Beth’s hip. “Piece’a junk.”

Beth makes an indignant sound in the back of her throat and kicks up the dirt at her feet. “God, Daryl, _jeez_, won’t you just try?”

“Tried b’fore. Told y’, not worth my time or y’r money.”

She tilts her head to one side, bats those baby blues at him. His dick twitches when he imagines her making that face at him from down on her knees. “_Please_, Daryl?”

Jesus, there’s one to file away for later use, huh?

He snorts again, as if that would clear his head. It’s too hot in the shed, too stuffy, too filled up with the way Beth smells, like sweet vanilla, the humid air stirring with her butterfly eyelashes.

He wants to feel her pussy flutter like that, around his fingers, his lapping tongue, his thrusting cock inside of her.

Somehow the Marlboro is damp between his lips, even as his mouth’s gone bone-dry. All he can think about is how bad he wants her, so much that he doesn’t even think about what it’s gonna sound like when he answers her on another snort, a chuckle, something heated deep beneath the surface of the words —

“Girl, you wanna beg me for somethin’, make it somethin’ actually worth my while.”

He says it, and he’s not even a little bit sorry that he did. Little embarrassed, maybe, but he doesn’t feel like bullshitting her, no more than Beth ever bullshits anybody. No, he’s not gonna tell her anything he’s thinking, he’s not gonna put that on her, but it’s _hot_ and he spent the last quarter of an hour underneath a car he knows isn’t gonna work when what he wants is to spend his time underneath Beth instead.

_Fuck_, but he wants to get under her. Watch her ride him, urge her up to sit on his face so he can make her come like that, too. He just wants to touch her, any way he can manage it.

“Oh, yeah?” Beth crosses her arms, leans her head back a bit so she can get a good look at him — so she can try to see right through him that way she does, that way that gets him going like he never imagined it could. He doesn’t want people to get his number like that, but then Beth comes along and he wishes she could read his mind. “And what’d be worth your while, then, huh? Maybe I can trade that, do whatever it is and then you’ll take Ophelia serious.”

“Do whatever y’ want, ‘m still not fuckin’ with this car no more.”

He means it, too. She could promise him all those things he wants to do to her so bad it hurts, and he still wouldn’t bother with the Mustang anymore. Thing’s a death trap.

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, pokes him in the chest. “I’ll do whatever _you_ want.”

…Okay, so maybe he’d be willing to take another look at the engine, after all.

She’s not poking him now, but her hand’s still on his chest, fingers curled loosely into his shirtfront like she thinks he won’t notice and then she can leave them there. Or maybe she _wants_ him to notice that she’s still touching him, that he’s still letting her.

Maybe he wants her to know that he wants to touch her, too. The way she’s looking at him now, he thinks that might be what she’s going for here.

Or maybe that’s just the heat and his own head talking, but…

His gaze flicks to her mouth. He licks his lips, upsetting the unlit cigarette between them, so he bites down on it to keep it in place. “Sure ‘bout that?”

“C’mon, Daryl” — she tugs at his top undone buttonhole — “ya think I’d kid you about my car?”

He huffs, breathes in that sweet smell of her so close. “I’ll take one more look at it. Tha’s it. Not that’ll do any damn good,” he adds on a low grumble.

She beams at him, all self-satisfied. “Thank you. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Dixon?”

All sorts of things, Daryl thinks. Wonders how she’d react to that, and decides to give it a shot. He can always say he’s just fucking with her; she’d believe that if it comes to it, and then he can just go home and drown himself in another cold shower over her.

He smirks a little, to hammer home the joke he might have to pretend this is. “Wanna take y’r shirt off for me?”

One of Beth’s eyebrows goes up, but she’s still grinning at him. Hasn’t smacked him upside the head and told him to watch his damn mouth, so he figures he’s doing alright.

She does ask him, though, “You kiddin’ with me, Daryl?”

That’s not a no, not a rejection. So he shrugs one shoulder, fingers twitching at his sides.

Beth looks him over, like she could find a surer answer somewhere other than the jerky movement of his shoulder. He thinks she must find it, maybe in the flushed tips of his ears or that twitch of his hands or in the way he’s looking at her without blinking. _Steady._

God damn, but it’s hot in this fucking shed.

And then there goes that smile again, she takes a step back to give herself room because she’s saying “Alright,” nevermind the half-open doors leading to the world outside this stuffy stifling half-assed barn. She crosses her arms at her hips, and pulls her tank top up and over her head. It snags on her already mussed ponytail, but Daryl doesn’t notice that so much when he sees that lace thing she’s wearing underneath and the freckles on her stomach.

She tosses her shirt onto the windshield. “Hope you weren’t jokin’.”

“Nah.” His throat’s dry as his mouth. “Wasn’t jokin’.”

His eyes travel back up to meet hers. Catches her own twitch when he does, this little tic in her jaw like she wants to say something, but she can’t work the words past a hitched breath and that smile she just can’t help. Beth’s always got a grin in her back pocket, like she knows the world’s gonna give her just what she wants on a silver platter because, damn it, doesn’t she deserve that much?

Daryl might be biased, but he thinks she does.

“So…” Beth drums her fingers across the Mustang’s grill. “You want me to jus’ stand here for ya or what?”

After a cursory glance towards the doors where nobody is, thank Christ, Daryl shakes his head, just a little, just once. He straightens up from where he’d been leaning against the car. He spits his unused cigarette onto the ground and tells her, “Nah, get y’r ass up on that hood, girl.”

“My scrawny ass, y’mean,” Beth retorts, even as she does what he says because Beth Greene’s a good girl, after all.

That smirk crosses Daryl’s mouth again, just as he slides his hand up the smooth expanse of her leg, nudging the two apart so he can stand between them. But his hand doesn’t stop there, not ‘til he reaches her ass and gives it a short smack.

“Don’t matter. Still wanna get my hands on y’.”

“That right?” She lifts up a bit, so he can get a better hold on her, so that her lips are nothing but one more right move away from his.

If he had any control left to his name, it’s out those half-open barn doors now.

“Mm-huh,” he murmurs roughly, and he takes her mouth just the same way. Because fuck it, if she wants it too then he’s gonna give it to her.

There’s no more holding back, no more slamming on the brakes once this thing’s been started. Not unlike the crappy Mustang she’s perched on, the one that got him to where he wants to be so maybe Daryl could give it some credit.

Their lips part on contact, and she tastes every bit as sweet as she smells. Heavier, though — headier, like she’s got something even sweeter waiting for him if he plays his cards right. If she can taste the ashy residue from that Marlboro on his tongue, she doesn’t seem to mind it, if the way she’s sucking on his tongue is any sort of indication, and Daryl’s gotta believe that it is. He groans, kisses her harder when she does that, breathing deep through his nose so that he doesn’t have to take his mouth off of her.

He keeps one hand on her ass, to urge her hips to roll against his, while the other goes to cup her jaw, to thumb her lips farther apart so that he doesn’t miss kissing an inch of her sweet wet mouth.

There’s not any inch of her he wants to miss, though, so when she starts panting into the kiss he breaks it, to take his mouth down to map the curve of her neck. Beth’s hands move down his arms, around his waist and back again, like she can’t decide where to touch. When he sucks behind her ear, her nails bite into his sides and she gasps, this sweet — because she’s all _sweet_, Beth is — high and shaky thing.

“Somebody’s gonna hear us.”

Daryl hums into her skin. “Guess y’d better be quiet, then.”

She shivers when he says that, and her hips arch more purposefully _up_. He slips his hand between them, so he can undo the snap and zip of his jeans. Not so he can get inside of her — only _not_ because he doesn’t have a condom, and fucking Beth’s one thing, knocking her up’s something else entirely because then this whole God-fearing town would know about it — but just to give himself a damn break. He’s been getting hard for her since he came out from under the car, with her booted ankles crossed next to him, her pussy within reach of his mouth that’s been begging for her. 

He moves his hands back up, so he can feel her up over that lacy thing she’s wearing, because he’d told her to take off her shirt for a reason so like hell is he not gonna get his hands on her tits.

She still doesn’t seem to know what to do with her own, ‘til she gets them on his face to make him look at her.

“Daryl…” She licks her lips, pupils blown wide and dark. “Tell me what you want. You’re so shy most’a the time. Sometimes I catch you lookin’ at me and I dunno what you’re thinkin.’ I wanna know.”

Well, if that’s what she wants, who the hell is he to say no to this girl?

“Wanna fuck you,” he tells her, hoarse when he plucks another kiss from her lips. He yanks her down the hood of the car some, so he can flex his own hips against her, so she can feel his hardness through both of their jeans. “Y’ ever done that before?”

“Couple’a times,” she admits.

The confession makes him hold her tighter, makes him pull another kiss from her mouth that’s harder and longer and has _mine _tumbling from the tip of his tongue right onto hers.

“Jus’ with me now, hear?” he says, not a question but an order, rumbled into the corner of her jaw. “Only gonna let me fuck you, ain’t that right, Beth? That what you want, yeah?”

When she nods, immediately and frantic, he kisses her again. Her sigh tastes like relief and amped-up nerves all at once. Daryl thinks he knows what to do with all that wound-up tension that’s got her coiled up like a spring, that’s got her hips moving along with his but all her little gasps and mewls are coming out with a high-pitched frustration at the end, like she likes what she’s getting but she needs more.

Daryl tugs at her shorts. “G’on, get the damn things off.”

“D’you wanna —”

“Ain’t got no rubbers,” he mutters. He throws another glance over his shoulder at the door, but nobody’s pointing a shotgun at him so he figures he’s got time to do what he wants to Beth on the hood of her shot-to-hell Mustang. “Gonna eat y’ out i’stead.”

“You’re gonna —” Beth blinks up at him, hand frozen on the button of her shorts. “What? What for?”

_“What for?”_ Daryl echoes, just as confused as she is. Impatiently, he knocks her hand aside so he can get her pants off himself. “‘Cause I goddamn _want to_, ‘s why.”

Beth must want him to, too, because once Daryl’s got them loosened, she kicks out of those denim shorts quick enough. He runs the callused pad of his thumb across the band of her black cotton panties, then tugs them down along with him as he gets to his knees in front of her.

“Better keep that pretty trap’a yours shut, girl,” he warns between the kisses he sucks onto her inner thighs. He balls her panties up into his fist. “Else ‘m gonna have to shove these in y’r mouth, keep y’ quiet.”

He feels her muscles tense, hears her mumbled, half-giggled reply —_ “Yes, sir,” _she says, and it makes him groan, makes him palm his hard cock through his jeans, makes him cover her pussy with his mouth before he’s got a chance to really look at it. All he knows is that it’s pink and dusky blonde and wet for him, and he guesses the only thing left to know is how she tastes.

The answer is hot and heady and that she tastes like she’s _his_, the way she breathes in sharp and grasps at his hair when he licks up into her. The way her raspy _“Ooooh my god” _trembles through her body so that he can taste her desperate pleasure in the flutter of her cunt.

His hands clench around her thighs to keep them still. Much as he’d like them to slam and tighten around his ears, Beth’s got more muscle to her than it looks and that shit _hurts_. The way she’s pulling on his hair does, too, but he likes that and it’s not gonna give him an accidental black eye, either.

When he flicks his tongue over her clit, a cry escapes before she can clamp her mouth shut tight. Daryl glances up to watch her, to find her eyes screwed closed and her lips pressed together so hard they’re outlined white, standing out stark against the pink of her face. He can see a purple mark blooming on her neck, too, where he’d sucked a little too enthusiastically.

That should make him worried that someone will see, that they’ll get found out, but instead it makes him suck just as enthusiastically on her clit. She shifts restlessly beneath his hold, gasping, biting down on her lip but still he hears her moan a low litany of his name.

“C’mon, Beth —” he whispers rough as he laps hungrily at her, the stubble of his beard scratching at her pristine white thighs. “C’mon, girl, y’ gonna come for me? Wanna taste this pussy when I get y’ off…”

Everything about her tightens up when he says that, when he licks her clit and then pushes his tongue inside of her. She tenses up, her grip twists in his hair, her whines slip from between her swollen lips, higher and higher, ‘til he moves his mouth just right, squeezes her ass and shoves her harder against his face.

He groans her name into her pussy and then she just _falls apart_, he can feel it, feels her come and then he does, too. Makes a damn mess of himself and he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, because he’s got his face buried in Beth’s cunt so it’s no wonder that his body spirals out of his control.

Because he got her off and it felt _good_, so good, how was he supposed to help himself?

They’re both panting, dizzy as they come down from that high. Beth is slumped over him, all warm and sweat-slicked. Daryl pulls more kisses from her trembling thighs, soothing away the shake as he runs his hands up and down them, too.

He looks up at her just as she’s pushing the hair, all but undone from its high ponytail now, back from her flushed face. Her pretty, chipped painted fingernails scrape over his scalp.

“So,” he says, voice gruff from loving on her cunt like he’d been, “still want me t’ take ‘nother look at y’r car or what?”

Beth laughs, breathless, and that makes Daryl go breathless, too.

_“Or what,”_ she says, and then tugs him up towards her for another kiss.


	2. a middle

**ii. what may come as a shock to you, is that i’m havin’ all those little thoughts, too**

A few things change, after that early afternoon on top of her car.

(_Everything_ changed, more like, but thinking like that’s only going to get Daryl in a whole other mess of trouble. If Beth wants to fuck him same as he wants to fuck her, well, that’s easy enough. But if he starts entertaining all the thoughts around that, like how he wants to be with her — really _be with _her, because how could he not, especially now? — then he’ll be looking down the barrel of disappointment or a broken heart or… you know, some other pansy shit, as his brother would say.

(So he tells himself that this is all Beth wants, to scratch some itch, and he tells himself that’s fine by him and he doesn’t for a second believe it.

(But anyway.)

Daryl starts coming around the farm a little more often. That probably makes him look too eager but, fuck it, he is; besides, Beth’s the only one who knows what he’s really doing there, and he _wants_ her to know.

In case there’s any doubt, the texts he sends her when he’s not around should do the trick alright. For one thing, Daryl doesn’t text, thinks it’s fucking stupid, so texting Beth at all should tell her how obsessed with her he is. He makes it a point to let her know it.

_miss that hot pussy of yours_  
_ been thinkin about getting my mouth on you again_  
_ then gettin my cock inside you while you’re still coming_

_wanna fuck you when you’re wearin nothin but those cowboy boots_  
_ get my mouth on your tits while you’re ridin me_

_gonna fix that car of yours up just so you can drive us somewhere while i finger that hot cunt_  
_ get you in the backseat and fuck you so hard the damn engine falls out for good_  
_ only thing that ‘stang’s ever been good for is givin me a place to eat your pussy_  
_ wanna do it again, beth_  
_ wanna do all sorts of things to you_

She usually doesn’t say anything back, which is fine by him. He’s not looking to start anything, he just wants her to know.

And, boy, but does she get the picture. When she does see him again after, she always drags him around to some deserted corner, sticks her hands up his shirt to scrape her fingernails down his middle to make him shiver, lets him kiss her rough and needy, prying her lips apart with his own to delve his tongue inside her mouth and swallow her heady little whimpers.

His hands are usually stained, black and dirty, but she only tells him to wash them if he wants to put his fingers in her cunt. He keeps them clean, just in case, but there’s no scrubbing away the evidence of a working man. She likes that about him, and he likes seeing tracks of grease on her thighs or her ass in the shape of his palm, his fingerprints.

Different, too, are the contents of his wallet. He keeps a couple of condoms there, just in case and always more than one, because it’s sensible and maybe he’ll get a chance to fuck her more than once in a day. (Hey, a man can dream, alright?)

It’s a good thing he does, because their chances come quick, at the drop of a hat. Like the first time he fucks her, it’s upstairs in her bed when no one’s home. He’d fixed the stuck lock on her bedroom window and next thing he knew, she was kissing him up against the wall and he was pushing her back towards the bed, pawing at her clothes while she fumbled with his belt, and then he was fucking her on top of her pretty pastel sheets, her bright blue bedspread and handmade quilt in muted colors kicked to the floor, because he’s fucking her _hard_ and doesn’t want anything in his way.

The bed creaks erratically along with the rhythm of his thrusts. So he holds onto the headboard with one hand to keep it steady, and the other clutches Beth’s hip to urge her to move along with him, to keep up with how fast and deep he needs to take her.

He talks more, too, that’s another thing that’s changed. He only talks more to Beth, but that’s all she wants from him when it comes to talking and he can do that. Even between hot, deep kisses, he can do that, even when the words get lost somewhere in the midst of her moans.

Like now, when he’s pounding her into her mattress and leaving bruises on her hip.

“Feel good?” he wants to know, the words edged with breathlessness. “C’mon, y’ gonna come f’r me yet?” He groans. “Wanna feel y’ come, girl, gonna feel so good on my dick.”

Her answer is just as breathless, just as caught up in her own hitched groan. “So make me. Make me come, Daryl.”

“Think I won’t? Touch y’rself for me, g’on.” His hand tightens around the headboard and he goes harder. “Lemme see.”

He lifts up a bit, so he can follow the progression of her delicate hand, down to where he’s fucking into her, sweet and slow now, to get a handle on himself while he watches her rub her clit for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters when she keens. “Gimme y’r fingers. Wanna taste y’.”

She brings her hand to his mouth, so he can suck her fingers between his lips, scrape his teeth along the underside to the tip before lapping at them again. There’s only a hint of her there, just a wisp of that sweet musky taste he remembers from when he’d gone down on her in the shed. But it’s enough to make him pick up the pace again, thrusts so brutal that it doesn’t matter how tight he holds the headboard, it’s banging against the wall, anyway, all while he’s still sucking on her fingers to chase that taste.

He feels her walls flutter and clench. She’s not coming, not yet, but whenever he talks to her, gets his mouth on her, her body seizes up and shakes and he knows how much she likes it.

He should’ve known she’d be into this shit. She’s a talker most of the time; it’s not exactly surprising she’d want someone to talk to her, too, and Daryl manages to find plenty to say to her. Where he’d held back before, kept his thoughts about her to himself, now he can let them all spill from his panting mouth whenever they’re alone together and all it does is make her hotter for him.

_“Mmmm…”_ She moans when he hits her deep. Her fingers slip from his mouth to card through his hair, to curl around his side. Her nails bite into his damp skin, leaving behind a sting he hopes sticks around long after he’s left her bed. He wants to feel her, even when he can’t touch her.

“Wanna watch you come,” he breathes harsh into the side of her neck. “Didn’t get to see last time, y’ made me so hard, couldn’t think straight… C’mon, Beth,” he says, voice so near to begging that he may as well be. “Bet y’r so fuckin’ pretty when y’ come… already so fuckin’ pretty, lemme see y’ get off f’r me…”

He can feel her breath catch as he sucks kisses into her skin, sure to leave a mark behind her ear where she can hide it, but at least they’ll both know it’s there.

He releases the headboard because holding on to it’s not doing much good, and he’d rather hold onto her. He takes her behind the knee to hitch her leg higher up on his hip, to give himself more room to fuck her like he wants, like _she_ wants, because she’s meeting his thrusts smoother now, more easily, matching each stroke so perfectly it’s about to make him go cross-eyed.

_“Beth —”_ He groans her name, low, and breathes it into her mouth when he kisses her. It’s sloppy and eager but she matches him in need, digs her nails into his skin and half-moans, half-sobs with pleasure as he moves above her, hips stuttering, fingers flexing, the bed squeaking ominously beneath them.

But it doesn’t matter, that sound, because it’s drowned out when Daryl shoves a hand between them to get his turn at thumbing her clit, and then Beth’s shouting out into the empty air of the house as she comes.

_Thank fuck_, because now he can come, too, and it’s not something he can stop once he feels her tremor through her peak.

“Christ,” Daryl says hoarsely about a minute later, as they lay side-by-side, him on his back and Beth on her stomach limbs tangled in a sweaty mess. “Got me needin’ a cigarette aft’r that, girl.”

She snorts into the one pillow that managed not to get knocked to the floor. “No way.”

“Ah, c’mon.” He gives her a grin and a slap on her ass. She replies with a little_ ‘mmph’ _that tells him she’s good to go again whenever he is (which’ll be damn soon, with her looking the way she does). “Can’t fuck a man like tha’ an’ not let ‘im have a smoke.”

“Gonna get that smell all over my sheets.” She rubs her palm over the side of his face, soft skin soothing the scruff on his cheek. “Mess ‘em up.”

Daryl looks pointedly down at the bed. The sheets are practically off as it is, tugged completely from one corner and bunched up across the mattress. “Think we a’ready did that. You ain’t gonna let me smoke, better let me do that t’ y’ again.”

The smile she gives him cracks her pretty face in two. “Jus’ tell me when and I’m there.”

“Gimme ‘bout five minutes.”

“And after that?”

Christ, he’s just glad she wants an _after that_. “Whenever I can get my damn hands on y’, tha’s when.”

She likes that answer. He can tell by the way she kisses him. He can tell, too, by the way she straddles his hips about three minutes later, because five’s just too long to wait.

But, hell, who’s complaining? 

**-**

Before Beth, he could count on one hand how many times he’d had sex. Didn’t even need one to count how many times he’d enjoyed it. Since Beth, though, it’d take more than his own hands and hers both to suss it out.

But he only needs her hands for anything, everything, else from now on.

After that first time, it’s just as Daryl told her: whenever she’s within arm’s reach, he’ll take her if she wants it. Turns out she always does. So it becomes every chance they can get, every moment, every spare second. If they don’t have time to fuck, she always leaves him wishing that they did.

Once — or, alright, every time it happens — she pulls away from a kiss, he chases her lips and actually fucking _whines_. Beth says it’s a whine, anyway, though Daryl would call it more a frustrated groan than anything.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles at her when she slips from the hold he’s usually got on her hips or her ass. It makes her giggle and twirl away from him, humming as she goes before someone can catch them doing what they shouldn’t be.

She really is a tease, Beth. She’s some kind of proud of it, she has to be, because she takes to torturing him not just when they’re alone, but when anybody else is around, too. Beth’s got a sweet tooth, after all, so no one else would question what she’s doing sucking on a damn lollipop every hour.

Daryl doesn’t have to question it, either. He knows exactly what she’s doing, but it’s not like he can say anything about it. It’s fucking stupid but his brain short-circuits every time and the only ones who know what’s going on are him and Beth and that should be _thrilling_, dirty and exciting, but sometimes it just makes Daryl’s hands clench into fists, blunt nails scarring little half-moons into his palms, because if he doesn’t physically stop himself he’s gonna grab her and kiss her so hard it makes her toes curl.

He still does that whenever he can, it’s just that when she’s swirling her tongue around another lollipop he doesn’t care who’d see it if he were to lap at her like some starved mutt, and he’s sure her daddy, her sister, the farmhands, _nobody_ would want to see that and it’d probably get him speared through with a garden hoe, besides.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, especially when all he can seem to remember is that Beth likes the cherry ones, ones that leave her mouth slick and so fucking red. Drives him fucking crazy.

“You tryna kill me, girl?” he breathes in her ear one day, when everyone else is outside and he’s got her crowded against the kitchen counter.

“Dunno what you mean,” she says, all innocent, but she _does_, she knows just _what_.

He nips sharply at her earlobe, and her hips jerk up towards him in response. “Keep playin’ with me and ‘m gonna find somethin’ else to put in that smart mouth’a y’rs.”

Her sweet lips — _so_ sweet, god damn, she’d just stuck another cherry sucker between them and he wants to lick the taste out of her mouth — twitch into a smirk against his cheek. “Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

“An’ I thought _you_ liked it when I make you come,” he retorts. He traces the seam of her jeans between her legs. “Keep messin’ with me an’ ‘m not gonna let y’ next time.”

He never makes good on that threat. Of course he doesn’t. What’s the point of fucking her if he can’t get her off? Watching her come — with his fingers in her cunt, his mouth on her tits, whatever, so long as it’s his name falling from her lollipop red lips, glistening like hard candy — was the whole point all along. He wants his fingerprints embedded in her skin, wants the shape of his mouth tattooed on the side of her neck, wants her to wear his touch like a brand, wear it like the bracelets on her wrist.

He thinks he might get there. For now…

Beth pops the sucker from her mouth and offers it to him. “Want some?”

“Tell y’ what I want, girl,” he growls, and hefts her up in his arms so fast it makes her squeal. Her arms go around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and he grins at her. “Tha’s a start.”

The candy clatters onto the counter behind them and Beth asks him, “What about that somethin’ else ya wanna put in my smart mouth, huh?”

Something twists in his gut — nerves or anticipation or maybe even panic, because, yeah, he said it, but it was one of those things he didn’t mean literally. He was just trying to rile her up. Because being with Beth’s not about taking anything from her. It’s about giving to her, and then taking a little bit of whatever she gets out of that, because swear to god, nothing gets him off like getting her there first.

“Hold up a sec,” he says, tightening his grip under her thighs when she starts trying to wriggle free, like she wants to slide down his body and get on her knees. “Y’ don’t gotta do that.”

Beth frowns. It’s a little thing, more confused than upset or hurt or something else he wouldn’t know how to fix. “You do it for me all the time.”

“Yeah, well, ain’t ‘xactly a chore,” Daryl mutters. “Wouldn’t do it ‘f I didn’t wanna. Jus’” — he huffs, annoyed with himself because he’s got her in his arms, wrapped around his thrumming body, he should be fucking _kissing her _— “tha’s how I get off, doin’ it t’ y’. Don’t need you doin’ all that work. I wanna —”

_Take care of you_, he wants to say but can’t get the words right, can’t get them up past his throat.

Seems like Beth gets what’s on his mind well enough, because she locks her limbs around him and kisses him when he stumbles over those feelings he can’t put any sense to. She sees him fumbling and she takes all that embarrassment away, just by showing him she still wants to touch him.

Daryl might not be able to figure out how to say a decent goddamn word to her, but it’s no small wonder he’s gone on this girl, that much he knows.

She tastes like that cherry sucker, all sugar and sweet and popped with flavor. Even that gets him going better than thinking about her knees all bruised and sore just so he could get his rocks off.

“Wanna go upstairs with you,” she breathes into his mouth, one hand stroking through his hair that way she does that gets him purring like a damn stupid housecat.

“Don’t think anybody else’d ‘preciate that,” Daryl points out, much as he doesn’t want to. But he wants to keep his hide just a little more (he’s no good to Beth if he’s buried in some forgotten corner of the farm, after all), and he won’t if anyone walks in on them like this.

“I _know_,” Beth sighs. A pout forms on her lips, sugared and swollen, and Daryl can’t fucking help himself, he’s gotta lick along her bottom one to chase that cherry. It makes her sigh again, makes her whimper. “You’re not makin’ this easy.”

“Now y’ know how I feel.” He gives her ass a squeeze before gently lowering her back to her feet. “Teasin’ me all the damn time, gonna drive me up the fuckin’ wall, girl.”

She giggles. “‘M sorry.”

“No y’ ain’t.”

That makes her laugh harder, a short, loud burst of sound that makes him think about summer afternoon rainstorms. “Alright, so I ain’t, but don’t I always make it up to you?”

She’s teasing him again, but she’s not wrong and Daryl’s not about to argue with her. Not about to tell her no. That was decided a long time ago. 

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through her hair and holds fast when he presses a firm, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, girl, y’ do.”

**-**

She rides him in his truck when they’re supposed to be on their way to the general store in town. They’re _going_, sure enough, but how was he supposed to _not_ pull over on the deserted back roads when she slid across the cab and started kissing his neck like she did? What else could he do? Careen off into the nearest wheatfield? Because that’s what was gonna happen, if he didn’t give in and let her have her damn way.

Besides, alright, to be fair it’s _his_ way, too,

Now his belt’s undone and his jeans pushed down enough to accommodate her, and her skirt — because she wore a _skirt_, for fuck’s sake, if it hadn’t been wreaking havoc on Daryl’s brain since he saw her that morning then he probably would’ve figured out sooner that she’d planned this — is rucked up to her hips, panties pushed to the side so he can fuck her, while her hands are pressed to the roof and he fondles her tits beneath her little crop top.

“Tha’s it, girl. Fuck me.” He keeps his strokes as slow as he can, to make this last with the limited time they’ve got, tightens his hand around her hip while the other tweaks her nipple. “Fuckin’ me so good, Beth…”

“Gotta fuck me faster, Daryl,” she moans, moving her hips a little more insistently to encourage him. “C’mon, please, we ain’t got time an’ I — _oh_,” she moans again, sweeter this time when he yanks her closer to mouth at her throat. “I need it so bad, please, need you to give it to me.”

_Fuck_, that’s hot. Daryl sucks in a breath so he doesn’t pass out or just drop fucking dead right here. Wouldn’t be the worst way to go, with Beth riding him — it’s in his top three causes of death, actually, right before feeling her up and right after suffocating with his head buried between her thighs — but he doesn’t think she’d be alright with that. Might be a confidence boost, but that doesn’t much beat out the trauma.

“Thought y’ were a good girl, Beth,” he murmurs into her skin, because he knows that talking to her’s gonna help her get to what she needs. “Ain’t bein’ so good now, are’y? Lettin’ some dirty old redneck fuck y’ in his truck when ev’rybody thinks we’re runnin’ errands. Wearin’ this fuckin’ skirt f’r me…”

He pushes it up higher, so he can slip his hand to her ass and smack it, hard. It makes her jump in his lap, so he digs his fingers in to keep her still.

“Jus’ a fuckin’ cocktease, ain’t y’, girl?” He sucks on her pulse point, too noticeable a spot for him to be marking her there but, fuck it, she knows how to put make-up on, doesn’t she? “Like makin’ me hard f’r y’ in front’a ev’rybody like that, that it? Wanna know my dick’s hard jus’ by lookin’ at ya?

“‘Cause it _is_, girl,” he adds, digging his grip harder into her ass as their thrusts increase. “Gets me hard jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout ya, ‘bout doin’ whatever I want t’ y’, ‘cause y’r gonna let me, aren’t y’? Huh?”

He smacks her ass again, ruts up roughly into her, making her shout a short burst of his name. Her hands fall from the roof to clutch at his hair, like she needs something better to hold onto and somehow she’s decided that he’s the best thing for her.

God fucking _Christ_, but he wants that to be true.

“Tha’s right, Beth,” he rasps, plucking sloppy kisses from her lips as they keep at it, harder and faster and nearly there. “Gonna let me do whatever I want t’ this pussy, gonna let me fuck it whenever I damn well want, ain’t y’? Gonna let me put my mouth all over y’ —”

_“Yes,”_ she gasps. The sound makes his eyes about roll back in his head. “_Yes_, Daryl, whatever you want, you always make me feel so good…”

Fucking _yes_, that’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Be good to her, for her.

When she swivels her hips, says his name again, when she kisses him, panting how much she wants him, how good he feels, how good he _is_, Daryl thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven when he comes.

He never believed in heaven before. But if Beth’s real, heaven’s gotta be, too.

The cab’s quiet as they come down, as Beth slumps into the cradle of his arms. The truck’s not creaking with their movements anymore, just fills up with their breathing as it steadies, the gentle sounds of soothing kisses and the blood rushing, pounding, in their ears. It’s a good sort of rush, Daryl thinks as he pushes the hair back from Beth’s face so he can look at her — because, fuck, but does he love looking at her. Can’t ever help himself. Can’t even wish he could. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?’ she wants to know, and he’d give her goddamn _anything_ so he nods. He strokes her cheekbone, too, just because he wants to know every curve she’s made up of.

The gesture makes her pause, makes her lips quirk. It almost sounds like she’s teasing again when she asks, “What d’you like so much about doin’ this with me, anyway?”

But it’s no joke. Either way, Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that because, Jesus, how can he explain it? He can’t even figure it out himself, though honestly he hadn’t really tried. He knew he wanted her and that was that, plain and simple, no sense in running himself into the ground looking for answers because those answers wouldn’t stop this ache he’s got for her. He can’t give her romantic gestures or grand declarations, because he doesn’t know how to do the right thing without messing it up along the way.

All he knows is that being with her is like… It warms him up from the inside-out, like the first time he kissed her, he’d swallowed the sun.

He can’t say that, though — can say all sorts of filthy shit to her because he knows she wants that, but who’s to say she’ll want _this_? Anyway, he’ll sound like a fucking idiot, so he doesn’t say it and tries not to think about how, sooner or later, he’s gonna have to.

Instead, he lets his own mouth quirk up at one corner, same as hers. He shrugs a little, rubs his hands up her back and he tells her, “Y’ gotta nice smile.”

It’s the best he can do, the best reply he can give her that even sort of encapsulates the truth of the matter. It makes her give him one of those smiles, too, makes that grin crack wide open and she’s _beaming_ at him, so he guesses his best’s not as lousy as he always thought it was.

Leave it to Beth to make him feel like he’s better, like he’s good enough. Maybe he never even had a best before she showed up.

Makes him think he owes her Mustang another look-over, but…

Well, he thinks as he gives her another kiss, he’ll see what stupid shit he winds up saying to her — shit he’ll have to say, if he wants all this fucking to turn into something that means he gets to keep her — before he decides whether the car’s worth it, when he could be spending that time with his hands on Beth instead.


	3. an end

**iii. let’s do something ‘bout it; what do you say?**

It’s been two weeks. If he thought her dumbass car or her eating those damn suckers was fit to kill him, it’s nothing compared to two weeks without her.

Not for lack of trying, but it’s not always easy to find a moment alone when you’re sneaking around on everyone like they are. They haven’t talked about the sneaking around, when or if they’re going to tell everyone that something’s happened between them and they plan to see it through — in fact, Daryl doesn’t know where Beth’s head’s at, because the only kind of talking they do is when he’s getting her off. They hardly have time for that lately as it is; he hasn’t managed to find a minute to spare where he could ask her what else she wants from him.

He knows what _he_ wants, knows that it’s her and that he wants it for real. No point pretending otherwise, or this two weeks is gonna go on forever and he’ll lose his shot. Beth’s always seemed like the kind of girl to settle down, so he can’t rightly imagine that all she’s looking for is a good fuck and that’s all. But maybe that’s all she’s looking for from him, because what good is he to her otherwise, really?

It’s not doing him any good to think like that, but old habits die hard. It’s even harder to kill them when he’s barely been able to get a quick kiss off Beth lately. Between her classes at the community college, Daryl’s hours at the shop, and all the work that needs doing on the farm, well, there hasn’t been a whole lot of time otherwise.

He’s gonna have to make some time soon, if he doesn’t wanna lose his goddamn mind. It had been a close enough call before. Now that he’s had a taste (or dozen or hundred) of her, he’s not ready to let that go. Not so long as she wants to keep holding on, too.

It’s Friday afternoon when she walks up the dirt drive to the house, when Daryl’s mending a fence with a couple other farmhands. Just about drops a hammer on his foot when he glances up to see her all dolled up, hair done pretty, crisp white blouse and a skirt with buttons down the front, hugged tight above her knees and the rest of her legs wrapped up in black fishnet stockings. He blinks a few times but turns out it’s not just his imagination playing tricks on him. He’d like for her to keep those on and nothing else, while he shoves his head between her thighs and makes her come.

It’s been two weeks. Probably won’t take either of them very long to get off the first time around. After that… Well, he’s had time to think up plenty of plans he’s got for her. They’ll see how long those stockings last.

He’s not the only one who notices them, though.

One of the other hands — some kinda dumb skinny kid who went to high school with Beth, who’s got a perpetual sunburn on the back of his neck — whistles when Beth’s in earshot. Daryl knocks him upside the back of the head and Beth rolls her eyes at them both.

“Oh, shut up, Jimmy,” she says as she breezes past on her little pleather boots. “My feet are killin’ me, I ain’t in the mood to stick my high heel up your ass.”

_Jimmy. _Right. Of course that’s his fucking name.

Daryl’s gaze drops to those heels. Looks like they could do some damage, sure enough. He’s about to have a heart attack just looking at her.

“Lemme know when you _are_ in the mood, huh?” Jimmy calls after her, laughing when Daryl hits him again because he’s being an idiot.

He’s not serious about it, that’s why the laughs come so easy, but Daryl still sort of wants to kick his scrawny ass. It’s a twisted ugly thing in the pit of his stomach, like somebody’s sqeezing his gut tight ‘til it’s fit to burst if he doesn’t cough it up first. He’s not gonna call it jealousy; he just doesn’t like anybody else looking at Beth the way he does, because the way he does has _mine_ written all over it and he’s not about to share any little piece of that.

Maybe he’s being stupid. Overreacting. Pissed off without any real reason to be. But he only gives it about a minute before he’s making an excuse to head inside for more nails or tools or other supplies he has no actual intention of looking for.

No, what he’s looking for is Beth, and he finds her as soon as he steps through the back door mudroom. She’s already got one of those boots kicked off, and the other foot perched on the old weathered bench as she works at the laces. He steps up behind her, rubs a hand up the curve of her ass to press against her arched lower back.

Her fingers pause on the ankle strap and she moans, a satisfied little sound that shoots straight to his dick. “_Mmmm_, that feels good.”

“Yeah?” Daryl presses harder, kneading his knuckles into her sore muscles. “Where you been all day?”

“Had a meeting with my advisor.” Beth shakes her shoe off and turns to face him. His hand slips to her hip and tugs her in close. “She likes to check in.”

“Everythin’ alrigh’?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine. She does it with everyone.”

He makes a noncommittal sound at that, just a huff of breath he doesn’t pay much mind to since he’s too busy looking Beth over, preoccupied by the way her fingers are toying with the buttons on his shirt.

“Always dress like this when y’r at school?”

“Dress like what?”

He drags a hand over her thigh, blunt fingernails catching in the crisscross pattern. He squeezes, just under her ass, where the fishnet gives way to lace. She sucks in a sharp breath, arches, and Daryl holds her tighter when he growls in her ear, “Like y’ want me t’ fuck you up against this wall righ’ here.”

A moan singsongs its way out of her throat. He can feel it burst against his neck when she starts laying kisses there. “Maybe I _do_ want you to. Been weeks since you tried.”

“Been tryin’,” Daryl huffs again as he backs her up to the wall, pushes her against it so hard that some framed Bible verse that’s hanging there rattles ominously. “Ain’t my fault you don’ got the time.”

“I can make time for you,” Beth murmurs on a smile, and he can taste the curve of her mouth when she fuses it to his.

God damn, but he’s missed this. Two weeks might not seem much, but it’s been driving him crazy — thinking about her, seeing her without being able to touch her, remembering the way it feels when her body melts and her tongue flicks and her hands card through his hair. _Remembering_ and not being able to do anything else but that. Getting all up in his head like remembering’s gonna be all he has from now on.

He groans into the kiss, grip biting at her hips as he guides her into a slow undulation along with him. He wants to take it hard and fast, he’s missed her so goddamn much, but more than that he wants her good and wet first.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Beth gasps when he releases her mouth to trail wet kisses down her throat. “We need to —”

He reaches down for her leg, pulls it up and around his hip as he grinds against her, making her groan. “Need to fuck you, tha’s what I need.”

“Anybody could come in,” she points out, though not with much conviction as she rolls her hips urgently to meet his.

“Yeah, maybe Jimmy will.” He sucks a mark behind her ear. “Maybe he’ll see me fuckin’ you.”

“You jealous?”

“Hell no.”

And he’s not. He knows she’s not about to run out on him with some cornfed fucking kid, even if that kid is her own age, somebody her daddy would approve of. He knows she wants him regardless of the rest of it and maybe beyond reason. So, no, he’s not jealous — he’s possessive and she’s _his_.

He’s gonna make sure she knows it, too.

He grinds against her again, pushing her skirt out of the way before he thrusts upwards into the thin material between them. He doesn’t know what she’s wearing besides those thigh-highs, but that’s all he needs to know. Doesn’t need to know much any of the time to know he wants her, besides.

“Feel that?” he pants, hot and rough, into her ear. Her jaw is smooth against the scratch of his stubble. “Feel how bad I wanna fuck y’, girl?”

“Uh-huh.” Beth nods frantically, wraps her arms around his shoulders and digs her fingernails in. “Yeah, _please_ —”

“Tha’s right.” He shoves her blouse up, catches his fingers in the buttons so they pop, spreads his dirty hands across her smooth pale stomach. “Knew y’ wanted it, right where anybody could see us. Want ev’rybody t’ know how much y’ like takin’ my dick, don’t you, huh?”

She’s still nodding, still pulling frenzied kisses from his neck, his jaw, his mouth as he keeps on talking to her. Their hands scramble between their bodies, pressed together, as he holds her against the wall with his hips and she unclips his belt buckle.

“Jus’ me, Beth, remember that? Only gonna let me do this t’ y.’” He breathes the words hot and heavy into her ear, wants her to feel them even when he’s not there to tell her. “Jus’ me an’ you, ain’t that right?”

“Uh-huh.” She gets his zipper undone and, instinctually, he bucks into her. “Jus’ you, that’s all I need.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_.

He needs her, too. Thinks he might have known it for awhile.

“Want you naked. ‘Cept these.” He snaps the lace band of the thigh-high against her skin. “Y’r gonna leave these on f’r me.” He noses, _nuzzles_, behind her ear, panting into her skin as he marks up her pretty neck with his teeth. “Want y’ to wear ‘em next time, too. Want ‘em on when I eat your pussy again, hear me?”

She shudders, keens like a cat, holds tighter to him — she does everything _more_ now, more urgent and insistent, like she needs him immediately. He can taste it, too, the way her skin rises in goosebumps no matter how damn hot it is in the mudroom. The air is thick with humidity but she’s shivering in the wake of his every touch, and it’s gonna drive him half-crazy before he even gets inside of her.

“Like that, huh?” he rasps, encouraging her when he cups her over her panties, can feel her warm and wet for him. “Like it when I tell y’ how bad I wanna get my mouth on this cunt? Answer me, girl, g’on, tell me,” he growls. “Tell me y’ like givin’ me this pussy.”

He gives it a squeeze, a light smack of his palm, a flick of his thumb over her clit and — fuck it. He rips her underwear down the front and lets the remnants scatter around their feet. She didn’t need the damn things on, anyway.

“Yeah, Daryl,” she tells him, words rolling from her tongue to his as he licks into her mouth. “I wanna give it to you again.”

She’s gonna kill him. Somewhere in his fuzzy, fucked-out — and they haven’t even fucked yet, but this is just what she does to him — brain, he knows it. It’s like the one constant thing in his life, Beth Greene and the fact of the matter that she’s gonna be what does him in, because he can’t live without her, doesn’t want to, and his train of thought ceases, screeches to a halt, whenever she’s around. And he’s always trying to get her to be around, always looking for her, always wishing she were there when she’s not, and then when she is… God damn, when she _is_.

She fishes a condom out of his back pocket, because she knows that’s where he keeps them. It’s all hurried hands between their frantic, desperate bodies, all quick now like they realized just how much time they’ve wasted, just how much danger they’re flirting with, doing this here, but that doesn’t stop him from slowing her down with searing hot kisses to her mouth.

He gets inside of her soon enough. It’s hardly ever soon enough, but he slides into her, all tight and ready for him. He gets his arms under her thighs — she’s still wearing those stockings, her skirt, still in her bra and undone shirt, because he wanted her naked but he wanted _her_, plain and simple, more than anything else — and hoists her up around his hips, and he sinks in deeper when she crosses her ankles behind his back.

_God Jesus fucking Christ damn it shit_, that feels good.

He takes her slim wrists in one hand, yanks her arms above her head and pins her captured hands to the wall. Their fingers tangle together. She could get free of his grip if she wanted, but she clings to it instead.

The curl of her fingers around his makes his heart jump, pulse skip, and he fucks her harder because _Christ_, he’s got to.

He can feel himself getting close already, can feel her walls humming and tightening as he thrusts up into her, that Bible verse banging against the wall in time with their rhythm (or complete lack thereof, but who gives a shit about finesse when she’s moaning in his ear like that?).

This won’t take long, just like he thought, so he starts talking to her so she’ll get off before he does.

“Who gets t’ fuck y’, Beth?” he grunts into her jaw, lips parted against her skin. “Huh? Who gets this pussy all to ‘imself?”

“You, Daryl.” Her hands flex in his hold. “‘M all yours.”

Fuck, but does he love hearing that. He knows she means it, too, knows she only ever says what she’s really feeling, no matter what he’s doing to her at any given time. She wants this, wants _him_ — she wouldn’t say if it was just some game to her. Beth doesn’t fool around like that.

“Damn righ’, y’are.” He goes harder, mouths at the space between her breasts. He’s gonna leave beard burn behind, but that’s fine by him; he wants her to remember just who she belongs to, who she’s with. “Gonna fuck y’ so hard y’ don’ forget it, neither. I see y’ walkin’ straight t’morrow an’ ‘m gonna do it again, don’t care who’s around, ‘m gonna lay y’r ass out and fuck you raw.”

“Whatever you want.” Her heels dig into his back and he finds himself hoping she’ll leave bruises there. She rolls her hips, takes him deeper, takes him to that spot inside her that breaks her moans into a thousand little pieces. “_Mmmm_, yeah, you can do whatever you want t’ me, so long as it’s you —”

But she knows, she’s gotta know, it’s whatever _she_ wants. Anytime, all the time, by now he’s fucking beat himself upside the head with nothing but the notion, desire, fixation to please her.

Because he needs her. Thinks he must be goddamn in love with her already, and somehow that doesn’t scare the shit out of him. It just makes him want her more. 

When he makes her come, it’s with one hand working her clit while the other’s wrapped up with her own fingers above her head. It’s with his mouth panting into the corner of hers. With her name tumbling into a pained, reverent exhalation, and his riding off her pretty pink lips. He kisses the sound from her, drinking it in like water, like a crisp cold beer and he’s drunk on her after just one pull.

As soon as their breathing evens out, the time catches up with them. It’s been long enough since Daryl disappeared into the house; someone’s bound to start wondering where he’s gone off too if he’s not back in the yard soon. He might be ready to tell Beth he wants this thing between them to last — because he’s sick of waiting around, tired of pretending it doesn’t matter when it does, because he’ll be real fucking sorry if it ends and he just let it — but this isn’t exactly the way he’d like for her daddy or sister to find out.

God help him, but he’d like to keep his balls.

He releases her hands, their palms tacky with sweat, and lays a kiss to the inside of her wrist as they untangle themselves. He eases her down the wall, slowly, gently, ‘til her stockinged feet hit the floor and she can stand steady enough on her own. She straightens her skirt, her blouse, while he gets rid of the condom, does up the fly of his jeans and watches her.

“Wanna tell y’ somethin’,” he says when he can’t put it off any longer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, but his voice is still like gravel when he says, “Don’ wanna jus’ fuck you no more.”

“Oh.” Beth blinks, her brow furrows, and suddenly she’s not looking at him anymore. She’s twitching the buttons on her blouse, like she did them up wrong and needs to fix them, but they’re on just perfect. Girl does everything perfect. “Um — well, I — we don’t have to, if ya don’t want —”

No. _No_, that’s not what he meant.

So he says that, too. Blurts it, more like — “Want it to be more’n that.”

“Oh.” Her gaze flicks back up. That line between her eyebrows smooths out as quickly as it had wrinkled. She cracks a smile, too. It’s tentative, like she’s testing the waters, but it’s there. “Okay. Yeah. That’s what I want, too.”

_Oh._ Yeah, that about sums it up.

It’s Daryl’s turn to blink at her. “Easier’n I thought it’d be.”

That makes her roll her eyes, turns that tentative smile into something easier, more honest. The newfound curve of her mouth makes him feel easier, too.

Maybe that’s the thing he liked about her so much from the start — that she makes everything easy. Like he doesn’t have to try so hard, like he doesn’t have to be anything else, and she’s still gonna want him.

“Took me about two seconds to take my shirt off for you the first time, an’ you thought it was gonna be _hard_?”

She has a point. Daryl’s not gonna admit that to her, though, she’s got enough of the upper hand on him as it is, so he just grunts, “Shut the hell up.”

“You gonna make me?”

“Know I will.”

She giggles when he taps her smartly on the ass, angles up on her toes to press a parting kiss to his lips. Fuck him, but if she keeps this up, he’s gonna stay in this mudroom with her all day.

Beth must be thinking along those same lines, too, because when he pulls her in closer she only lets him go on for another second before she’s pulling away again.

“Better get back outside,” she advises, a little lilt to her voice that tells him she knows how bad he doesn’t want to go. Tells him she doesn’t want him to, either. “Don’t want Maggie catchin’ you kissin’ me like that.”

Daryl snorts. “Don’t want Maggie catchin’ me lookin’ at you the way I do, neither. Got any advice for that?”

“Quit lookin’ at me so much.”

“Quit lookin’ like that an’ maybe I’ll try.”

“Lookin’ like what?”

He gives her a very pointed once-over (okay, twice-over, but he’s got to take what he can get when they’re alone). “Like _that_.”

“Oh, I get it.” Beth gives him another kiss for that, short and sweet, so he must have said something right. “Lookin’ the way I always do. Well, can’t help you with that, Mr. Dixon. Guess you just think I’m real pretty.”

“Yeah,” Daryl agrees. What’s the point in arguing that? he figures, as he tips her chin up to get just one more kiss out of her (so sue him) before he hightails it back outside. “Guess I do.”

* * *

It all works out in the end. Somehow. Daryl doesn’t question it much, doesn’t want to jinx it — doesn’t believe in jinxes and all that shit, but he’s not about to tempt fate into proving him wrong, just in case. Because he’s got Beth now and she’s got him, and nobody had pitched much of a fit about it, after all.

Maybe Hershel regards him a little more seriously, maybe Maggie watches him a little more closely (maybe she’s got a more cohesive homicide plot up her sleeve, too, who’s to say?), but it’s not half so bad as Daryl thought it would be. Nobody’s killed him (yet), at least. He’ll take it.

Other than that, nothing else changes, really. He’s still got a miles-long to-do list on the farm every weekend — but that’s the perils of owning so much land, and Daryl’s not about to turn Hershel down when he’s trying to take the man’s daughter out every chance he gets — but maybe he takes a few more breaks than he strictly needs. Beth always seems to find a way to convince him, lure him away from a hole in the roof or a mend in the fence or a busted brake on one of the tractors, but he gets it all done just fine by the time the sun goes down. And if he just happens to get her off in the meantime, well, all the better.

Besides, making her come — in the barn, the kitchen, up against the wall in the hallway to her bedroom because they can’t ever seem to make it through the goddamn door — usually keeps her off his ass about whether or not he’s gonna give her Mustang another look. He hadn’t planned on it, because it’s really not worth the trouble and he can never get her to see sense, but she doesn’t argue with him once he’s got her to shut up and kissed her.

Yeah. All that, and he never does get that damn car fixed. But, you know, if you ask him (and Beth, at this point), the Mustang doesn’t need a running engine for him to go down on her on top of the hood.

That’s about all the thing’s good for these days, but that’s plenty good enough.


End file.
